Standing on the Doorstep
by Hapax Legomenon
Summary: "...and Two-Bit came blubberin' over here with some tale about how you were running a fever before the rumble and how it was all his fault you were sick.  He was pretty torn up that night." Two-Bit's thoughts; rated for mention of death and some language.


A/N:_ Hello all, I know I should be working on Don't Need Nobody, but Frankie wanted a break and I was in a rather melancholy mood. Here's a little oneshot for you._

_This is my first Outsiders fic, and I'm not entirely sure about it. I'd appreciate any feedback, but this feels more personal than it should, so if you don't want to review that's fine. I'm not going to say anything else here, except to remind you that I don't own The Outsiders and I hope you find this to your liking._

-x-

He was supposed to be the funny one. Him and Soda, they were the clowns, and usually that was a role that he thrived in. He could crack jokes no matter what was happening – more than once his mouth had gotten him in trouble. Then again, it just as often got him out of it. He could always sweet-talk his ma into lending him a couple of bucks and he'd even gotten out of a couple of tickets. Yes sir, he had a fast tongue. He might act dumb, but he wasn't. He wasn't as oblivious as he looked, but it was more fun to play the fool.

So, then, why didn't he know what to say? He stood at the door awkwardly, shaking a little. Was he drunk? He couldn't remember. He didn't remember anything, just…

Johnny's dead.

Dallas is dead.

Ponyboy's sick…

Ponyboy.

He clenched his eyes closed for a moment. Damn that kid! He knew he was sick, he knew it he knew it he knew it. He should have told Darry. Pony asked him not to but he should have done it anyway. If he had, if Darry had made Ponyboy stay home, if Darry hadn't let him fight, maybe he'd be okay now.

Pony had been in the hospital. He hadn't gone to see him there. He was afraid. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was scared of seeing Pony there. He was scared of seeing Darry, scared that Darry would know that it was his fault.

It was his fault. It was.

Steve told him that they'd brought the kid home. Just this afternoon. He wasn't awake, though. Just Darry couldn't afford the hospital bills and the doc's had said that he would be okay at home as long as Darry and Soda took care of him. That's what Steve had told him this afternoon. Darry and Soda would take good care of the kid, though. They didn't let anybody mess with Ponyboy. They loved that kid.

He did too.

It surprised him. In the lot, when they'd killed Dally and Johnny was dead, that wasn't what made him feel cold and sick to his stomach. He was watching the kid. And Ponyboy had just dropped. And he thought he was going to be sick .

He did love that little kid. It was almost funny. Ponyboy already had two brothers looking out for him, he didn't need another one. He didn't need anyone else worrying about him. He was lucky; most grease kids didn't have anyone who cared. Pony had his brothers, and Pony had him. And still all this shit had to happen to him. Maybe he wasn't so lucky. Maybe there was someone out there who had it in for that kid. It wouldn't surprise him. All the bad things happened to Ponyboy. He really wasn't that lucky after all.

He was still standing on the doorstep. He didn't knock, he didn't open the door. He didn't move. He just stood there, staring at the peeling paint. Trying not to think about Ponyboy but wanting to see him. He wanted to see the kid so bad it almost hurt. He wanted to make sure that what he'd done wasn't irreparable, that maybe he wouldn't have to feel so damn guilty any more.

Hell, like that would happen. It was his fault that Ponyboy was sick. He should have told Darry. He should have kept an eye on the kid during the rumble. He shouldn't have let him go off with Dallas afterward. He should have done something.

Was he drunk? He couldn't tell any more. He felt dizzy and sick and he couldn't think, couldn't see straight… he was shaking… why was everything so damn blurry? He felt a breath hitch in his throat. He must be drunk. He didn't remember drinking. But the door was all blurry and he was shaking. Did he shake when he was drunk? He didn't remember.

He had to see Ponyboy. He had to tell Darry, he had to tell Darry that it was his fault. If he had told Darry then Ponyboy wouldn't be sick. He had to tell Darry. He had to see Ponyboy. Would Darry let him see Ponyboy? He didn't know. He didn't think so, not after he told Darry. Darry wouldn't want him anywhere near Ponyboy. He cared about that kid too much. Darry wouldn't let him in once he knew. Once he told Darry he wouldn't be able to see Ponyboy. But he had to see Ponyboy, and he had to tell Darry. It was all his fault…

He could hardly see the door anymore. Why was it so blurry? His face felt wet. Why did his face feel wet? Was he drunk? He didn't remember. He didn't remember anything…except Johnny, and Dally, and Ponyboy. And that it was his fault. He felt so guilty. He had to tell Darry that it was his fault.

He didn't move. He still stood on the doorstep.

He'd never felt so guilty before. He had never been as afraid for anyone as he was for Ponyboy. What if Ponyboy didn't get better? What if he killed Ponyboy? He didn't tell Darry that Pony was sick, what if Ponyboy died because of him?

He didn't know if he could live with that. He couldn't live with that. He needed Pony to be there. Even if the kid never thought things through, even if he could be naïve and sarcastic and annoying, he needed Pony. They had already lost Johnny and Dally, and if they lost Ponyboy and it was his fault…

He couldn't live with that.

The door was so damn blurry and his hands were shaking. He heard something funny. It sounded like somebody was drowning. He could hear shuddering gasps and sometimes he heard little whimpers, like a puppy. It was a weird sound but he couldn't concentrate on it. His head was spinning and he wondered if he was drunk.

He was standing on the doorstep. He couldn't move.

It was his fault.

Over the drowning sounds he thought he heard something else. Something familiar, like voices. He knew those voices but he didn't know who they were. He didn't think about it. It was his fault.

He was staring the door willing it to come back into focus. His cheeks felt hot and wet and he wondered why. Had he been drinking? He tried to remember but couldn't. He couldn't remember not being here, staring at the door.

The drowning and puppy sounds got louder. He was shaking. He was shaking so much.

He stared at the door and listened to the drowning and watched his hand shake.

He had to tell Darry it was his fault. He had to see Ponyboy and tell him he was sorry. He should have done more. He should have told Darry, he should have kept Ponyboy safe. That's what he should have done.

Was he drunk? He didn't think so anymore. Drunk didn't hurt like this.

He stared that the door.

Something changed. The door wasn't there anymore. Now there were… jeans? He couldn't see. The jeans were too blurry.

"Two-Bit?"

He heard his name.

"Two-Bit!"

That was his name again. He tried to look up but everything was blurry. He thought he could see someone but he wasn't sure. But he had to tell them, whoever it was. He had to tell them…

"It's my fault. I'm sorry."

The wet on his cheeks dripped off and ran down his hand.


End file.
